

Class.. — ^. 



CopyiightN^_ 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Carnation petals; 



Copyright, 1915 

by" 

Lois Pox 



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Carnation Jetalsi 

Hoig Jfox 




The Schilline Press. Inc. 

137-139 East 2Sth SL 

New York 



.^i^^^ 



©CIA4 2803 3 

FEB 18 1916 




evhuo 



^0 aWitti €atnation 



A. P. 



I love you, little flower. 

Far more than all the rest. 
You bring to me sweet memories 

Of days when I was blest. 

How pungent it your fragrance ! 

When ill of heart and sad. 
Pondering o" er your beauty 

My soul and I grow^ glad. 

I love you. little flower — 

No dearer in creation ! 
You bring to me swett memories — 

O lovely red carnation! 



I 



V 



Jforetoorb 

This little book is an added bond 
between me and my friends. 

L. F. 



1^1 






9 laim 

"And God said unto Moses, I AM THAT I AM." 

—Ex. iii, 14. 

I 

AM not weary nor alone — I am not 

faint of heart; 
I am the truth contained in all— of 

this I am a part ; 
I am the breeze that softly blows — 
I am equal, I am whole; 
I am Beginning and the End — 

I am what man calls Soul. 

II 

I am the clover and the wheat — I am the drops 

of rain; 
I am the prana of the earth — that gives to 

life an aim; 
I am the Morning and the Night — I am the 

fragrant flower; 
I am the sap of all the leaves — 

I am what man calls Power. 



15 



Ill 



I am the good in every heart — I am a spark 

divine ; 
I am the music of the harp — that tunes your 

heart to mine; 
I am the thrill of ecstasy — I am the stars 

above ; 
I am the never-changing law — 

I am what man calls Love. 

IV 

I am the light to lead the way — I am 'twixt hill 

and dale; 
I am the still small voice within — a voice that 

will not fail; 
I am the guiding-star to Heaven — I am the 

cloven clod; 
I am the strength that makes the whole — 

I am what man calls God. 



(inspired by Swinburne's " Hertha.") 



16 




iWiotljer'sf iSame 

EAR, hauntingly dear to me, 

The magic of mother's name, 
Shrined forever in my heart 
It burns like altar flame. 

With bells of ev'ntide 
Wherever I may roam. 
To me it calls — "Marie, Marie!" 
To me it sings of home ! 



17 



Would that ev'ry woman's life 

Like healing balm might know 

As I of Thee — O Mother mine! 
From days of long ago! 

With bells of ev'ntide 
Wherever I may roam, 
To me it calls — "Marie, Marie!' 
To me it sings of home ! 



18 



Clla Wi^tthv W&iltox 

Oh poet-soul, philosopher and friend, 

What tribute can I offer at your feet, 

To show how gratitude unto the end, 

Endures to make my joy o( life complete? 

The cheering word, the friendly clasp of hand, 
The voice that rings through flying hours 
so true. 
In all the breadth of earth which you com- 
mand, 
I sing my song to reach the heart of you. 



I 



19 



« » 




iWp (granbfatfjer 

T the twilight hour the old Cathe- 
dral of Zurich was dimly lighted. 
The organ was softly murmuring 
a prelude and fugue of Bach as the 
people came quietly into the sol- 
emn gloom. Standing in the organ loft, as 
stillness followed the organ strains, I sang the 
immortal chants of the great master. It was a 
moment of strange ecstasy. 

At the close, an old man made his way to 
the choir and asked me how, as an American, 
I had mastered the spirit of the great German 
father of song. I replied that, although born 
and reared in the state of Texas, my father 
came of a long line of German artists. The 
family had drifted away from the old life and 
I, a girl of the great South, had lost touch 
with the traditions of the past. 

So my questioner, who proved to be a judge 
of the court, was interested and immediately 
proposed to trace the clues furnished by the 
little book of my father's christening, which I 
had with me, and see what could be found of 
my lost family. 



20 




ma (f5rattJifa%r 



The result of his investigation was the dis- 
covery of my father's brother in the heart of 
the Black Forest. Thither I repaired and, on 
Christmas Eve, found myself in a quaint home, 
centuries old, nestled amid the snow-covered 
pines, in the company of my uncle, his two 
sons and two beautiful young daughters. 
Here I learned the wonderful story of my 
grandfather. 

During the French Revolution the castle of 
old Baron Philipp von Fuchs was destroyed 
and with his family he sought shelter in the 
Cathedral of St. Killian in Heilbronn on the 
Neckar. As music-master and composer to 
the King of Wurtemberg he was given the 
tower of the cathedral for his residence, and 
there my grandfather, August von Fuchs was 
born. 

The ambition of the family was to make him 
a great musician, as he early showed signs of 
musical genius. At the age of eight he gave 
his first concert in Hohenstaufen Castle, now 
a picturesque ruin, but then a brilliant center 
of music and art. 

As father and son were walking together 
through the forest, on the way to the castle, 
the child, his violin tucked under his arm, ran 
on ahead. Coming to a sign-board, he paused 
and, with a bit of crayon, commenced to make 



23 



a picture of the castle which loomed in the 
forest vista. A stranger chancing by, reined 
in his horse, and noticing the boy's sketch, 
paused and addressed him: 

"Wunderbares talent! You would make a 
great artist." 

"But my father wishes me to play the vio- 
lin," answer the child. 

Thereupon the stranger gave the little artist 
his card and asked him to call with his father 
on the following day. When old Baron von 
Fuchs overtook his boy, the lad held up the 
bit of paper and cried out: 

"See, Father, what a strange man has given 
me! He wants me to bring you to see him." 

The father looked at the inscription and saw 
it was the name of his patron, King William 
of Wurtemberg. 

When the father took his boy the following 
morning, it was arranged that the King should 
assume charge of his education. He was 
placed in the famous old Carl School, at that 
time a renowned institution of learning. 

In the course of time a desk-mate was found 
for the young artist. His name was Schiller, 
and little did the embryo painter imagine that 
he was forming a close bond of friendship with 
one who was destined to be among the immor- 
tal poets of Germany and of the world. 



24 



At the age of eighteen he was made draw- 
ing-master of the school. Later the King 
sent him to study sculpture in Rome under 
Thorwaldsen, that he might be equipped 
to work in cathedral decoration. After two 
years of study he was commissioned by the 
King to make copies of the mural decorations 
in the excavated homes of Pompeii — Hercu- 
laneum. Some of the water-colors which he 
did at this time, in 1789, are now among my 
most cherished possessions. 

Later he was recalled to Stuttgart to paint 
the mural decorations of the Stations of the 
Cross in a Wurtemberg Cathedral. The lure of 
Paris next drew him to the French metropolis 
to make his reputation there, while still hold- 
ing the title of royal painter to the Court of 
Wurtemberg. Here he was fascinated by a 
charming French woman, who was a teacher 
of languages and song and was also a church 
singer of note. They were married and, after 
a brief sojourn in Paris, August was sent by 
the King to copy some newly excavated in- 
teriors in Pompeii. He later returned to Paris, 
however, where a son, my father, was born to 
gladden their home. They hoped to make 
an artist of him, and placed the boy in a 
school with that end in view. Here he mys- 
teriously disappeared, and for forty years 



25 



the distracted parents searched for him with- 
out avail. Another son was born after his 
disappearance, who eventijally became the 
sole heir of the family. It was he whom I 
visited in the Black Forest and here many of 
these details were gathered. 

Since my father died several years ago with- 
out knowing, or, at least, revealing, any clue 
to his strange disappearance, the mystery will 
probably never be unravelled, beyond the fact 
that he was taken by a wealthy American fam- 
ily from Paris to America, where he was reared 
and educated under the Americanized name of 
Fox. The little christening book, including 
photographs and signatures of his^ family, 
alone served to put me in touch with this 
story. 



jFatijer 

Remember you? I never pluck a rose, 

But to think of you. Each flower that grows 

Is richer far, from thought of you! 

And every wind. 
With fragrance laden, brings 

You to my mind. 



26 




litTBan, Hark JForrat 
IDurtal H^lBce of 6^p ^lanntat^et 



**?Blue Ponnet MtlV* 

(Written as a Child, to My Only Sister) 

Lost in a sea of cerulean hue — 
Lost, a small child in a bonnet of blue ; 
A flower among flowers, how could she get 
Mislaid in a field of Texas Bonnet? 

Sweet little wanderer, I fear that they will 
Try to conceal you in meadow or hill, 
Hide you from those who seek to find you — 
In the beautiful fields of Blue Bonnet hue. 



30 



Siltivmation 

O God of Love and endless Power! 
Be with us in the silent hour ! 
Our hearts to Thee we lift above, 
Give, O Give us, perfect love. 

Let all our affirmations be 

One mind in unison with Thee ; 

Let Truth and Love our hearts combine 

To Greater Glory, all Divine. 



31 



Wtxm 

To My "Lone Star"— A Song 

TEXAS, mighty Texas, 
While sun is in the sky, 

Shalt loved and honored be, 
Thy fame exalted high! 

O Texas,*ever and forever, 

'Twixt mountain and the sea, 

Thy children, near and far, 

Send back their love to thee ! 

O Texas, mighty Texas, 

With men brave, women fair, 
Thy fields of wheat and poppy 

Spread glory everywhere. 




32 



O Texas, ever and forever, 

'Twixt mountain and the sea 

Thy children, near and far. 

Send back their love to thee! 

O Texas, mighty Texas, 

Of golden splendor is tAy fame, 
Marvelous is thy greatness. 

Resplendent is thy name! 

O Texas, ever and forever. 

From mountain and from sea, 

Thy children, near and far, 

Send back their love to thee ! 



33 



3Df)e 9otte o{ lobe 



TO ASHLEY 



Thy voice of love haunts me ; lingers still 
With plaint of rippling rill. 
Near it comes like thought o'er the mind, 
Or luring woo of whisp'ring wind. 
Carnations dipped in the dew of night, 
While stars radiate benediction of light. 
I know there's a heaven and seraphim above, 
I know there's a God, and His gospel is Lovct 



34 




PRING is here! Let all rejoice— 

April showers begin to fall. 
Spring is here! Hark to its voice! 
Gladly it sings for one and all ! 



Light showers seductive falling 

Wake to bud and blossom bright ; 

Myriad voices calling, calling 

From Winter's vanished night ! 

Wake up, ye slumbr'ing flowers! 

Exhale your balmy breath alway! 
Leaf, ye trees and naked bowers. 

Give Earth a gladsome day ! 

Like Spring, Love calls to me: 
"Thou sluggard, awake again ! 

Life's power its thrill renews 

Making for summer's refrain." 



35 



From early childhood the weird and 
plaintive cadence, the beauty and pathos of 
the music of the negro slave has always 
thrilled me. To promote and preserve this 
unique phase of art of a people once in 
bondage is my great desire. The general pub- 
lic does not grasp the importance of saving 
this traditional music from oblivion. What 
a pity it would be to lose forever such a 
treasure of sounds, each one of which bears a 
story in its own peculiar intonation. 

The music of no other race is more deli- 
cately shaded in expression, or shows more 
accurately the state of mind of the singer, 
than that of the old-time slave. Every note 
contains some plaintive element that has 
more the intonation of a sigh than a laugh. 

Every tone is that of prayer, supplication or 
sorrow. Even their Hallelujahs have the ring 
of distress. It is almost impossible to find 
words that describe this music, and few 
singers can correctly imitate it. 

The modern "coon song" is no more akin to 
real negro music than their lyrics are to the 
poetry of the Psalms. 

The songs and stories are not mere poems; 
they are the outpouring of the soul in har- 
monic numbers, making sublime symphony. 

36 



3n Mp ©arben of (girlftoob Jfrienbi^ 



I ma 


Viola 


Ella 


Liess 
Virginia 


Margaret 
Grace 


Gay 

Edith 


Marie 


Elsie 


Nannette 



In my garden you're implanted; 

Nothing there will ever fade 
While Mem'ry's breath enchanted, 

Exhales in sun and shade. 



Bess 


Evangeline 


Natalie 


Roslyn 


Allie-Mae 


Kay 


Gertrude 


Irma 


Crystine 


Lucille 


Erna 


Madelon 


Vida 


Elizabeth 


Ora 


Ellen 


Marietta 


Lily 



37 



STuaneta 

More than beauty in your face I've seen- 
Your soul — How deep! How rare! 

You are rooted in my garden green, 
To bloom forever there. 



38 



ifMarton 

You are a rippling song, dear, 

Whose message floats and floats, 

All the glad day long, dear, 
In sweet, caressing notes. 



39 




Co €trala{) 

OU ask me why I love you? 
Ah, dear, I cannot say! 
Sometimes I love your sunny 
smile. 
Sometimes your winning way. 



And then I see that deeper 

Than all the surface charm, 

It is your heart I'm loving, 
Because it is so warm. 

Then deeper than your heart, dear, 
The soul of you I see, 

A mingling of twin virtues, 
Pride and humility. 



40 



You walk with regal manner, 
You talk as one inspired; 

And even my poor spirit 

By your bright flame is fired. 

IVe loved you long and truly, 
O Edalah, my friend. 

And may God love you always, 
Beyond this brief life's end! 



41 



iSaomi 

In my beautiful garden of friends 
One exquisite lily sways and bends — 

Bends in loveliness to me, 

Naomi, my Naomi! 
Other flowers may bloom and blow, 
Other blossoms may come and go, 

But none as beautiful to me — 

Naomi, my Naomi ! 

Perfect thou, in form and face, 
Lovely as a maid of Thrace, 

Lovely as the stars to me — 

Naomi, my Naomi! 

Queen of all the garden flowers 

Through the dawn or sunset hours, 
Sweet, art thou, by God's decree — 

Naomi, my Naomi! 



42 



JierHja 

To me you clung when all had parted, 
By this our friendship lives. 

O more to me, Thou Noble-Hearted ! 
More to me than wide world gives ! 



43 




Wiitl} iWarp ®nber g>outJjern &kit^ 

To Mary Fuller 

N opportunity to be with Mary, 
under southern skies presented 
itself. My admiration for her 
unique personality on the screen 
is unbounded. Her wondrous eyes 
are never to be forgotten.. In Savannah, 
Georgia, where "Under Southern Skies" was 
being pictured, I had oppprtunity to be closely 
associated with Mary, and her true Southern 
portrayal of Miss Lelia took me back to 
school days and plantation life in the Far 
tSouth. The Shotter Plantation, with its 
magnolias and moss-covered trees, the Thun- 
derbolt River and the plantation negro life in 
full swing, gave a charm to the reality of this 
wonderful picture. The loving, sweet nature 
and smile of Mary lent sunshine to her sur- 
roundings. One Sunday morning, in Christ 
Church, I observed Mary deep in meditation, 
prayer-book in hand, her eyes looking upward. 
I left her undisturbed with a dear, tender 
memory of her v/onderful eyes. 



44 



ilatfjerme 

How wondrous strange this world of ours ; 

We meet, we love, we part — 
Yet time nor clime can change us, 

If true are we at heart. 



45 




€baltce 

N regions far above the air, 
Where white Alps rear their heads. 
In castle elfin fair 
A fairy treads, 
A fairy treads. 

True her eyes of tender blue, 
Soft her step as snow — 

To think, O Edalice, of you 

Is spring with flowers aglow, 
Is spring with flowers aglow. 

Elfin Sprite from out the wild. 
You flit thru shad'wy halls. 

You dainty and elusive child. 
You 'lume the dismal walls. 
You 'lume the dismal walls. 

A joy without surcease. 

With voice so soft and low 

You came, sweet Edalice, 

In spring with flowers aglow! 
In spring with flowers aglow! 



46 



ifKona 

In my garden there's place for you, 
In bright and fragrant row, 

*Twixt hollyhock and sunflower, 

Where strength and beauty grow. 



47 



anne 

Like some ancient myth you seemed to me 

that day. 
Stunned by defeat and direst need, you calmly 

stood 
And smiled to scorn the lucred chance to fail 

a friend. 



48 



Love that is noble, love that is true, 
My dearest Helen, I send to you. 
And you alone have won this love 
That will last as long as the heavens above. 



49 



My bower of rose and thyme, dear, 
Has bud nor flower so fair; 

Nor naught that blossoms there 
Distills a sweet more rare. 



50 



^Florence 

Here's a pledge of my love for your big brown 
eyes, 
And your hair of Titian hue ; 
For your wonderful nature — ^like warm sunny 
skies — 
And a heart that is always true blue. 



51 



ai 3Reberie 

The soft gray shades of evening 
Fall gently o'er my door, 

And with them comes the image 
Of a face I see no more. 

Never in the day-time, 

'Mid the glitter and the roar, 
Only at holy eventide. 

Comes the face I see no more. 



52 



I sing and sing and sing, 

Tuning my heart and voice, 

Hoping the listeners to my song 
With me rejoice. 

*Tho frail I be, of mighty things 
My heart-felt song may tell. 

Lifting, who knov/s! helpless souls. 
To heaven from hell! 

God in man and man in God 
I know and shall proclaim. 

That doubters by my faith, 
Be stronger that I came. 



53 



laitljiebement 

If through me one aching heart 

Were eased of pain, 
Two discordant made to beat 

As one again, 
My life, tho' voiced a failure, 

Were not in vain. 



54 




E. s. 

WISH that all who say they care 
Might not so hasty be, 

Wrongly to judge and criticize 
Each error they may see. 

We cannot know another's mind, 

And circumstance may play 
A part that covers from our view 

The good there stowed away. 

Oftimes a soul is sad and sore, 

Yet tries to play the part 
Of sunshine — hiding every trace 

Of grief that fills the heart. 

Should failure in the effort be. 

And weakness in the foreground stand, 
Be big and show in silence 

That, somehow, you understand. 



55 



if (gob M ®ux :f rienb 

To Brother Louis 

Why grieve o'er earthly loss, 
As tho' it were the end? 

In silence why not bear our cross, 
If God's our loving friend? 

Why tell our troubles to mankind — 
Expect them to defend? 

Should not we comfort find 
In God our loving friend? 

In gloom and stress of life, 
Mournful days why spend. 

When Love o'ercomes all strife 

And God's our watchful friend? 

Let life be gladsome song of love 
Though sun with shadow blend, 

Are they not of heaven above 

Whose God is our true friend? 



56 



After the night-time, Dawn! 
From lake and wood and lawn 
The mists have upward gone. 

Come, grieve no more, nor bow; 
God's son, they laid ^o low, 
Has risen: follow thou! 



57 



jFaitf) 

How wonderful! After striving, to have an 
awakening through faithful prayer that gives 
one a taste of the exquisite buoyancy of being 
free from the stress of responsibility. How 
wonderful to let go, as it were; to drop vain 
reason like a shattered rose and, pillowing 
one's head upon the bosom of Faith, to fall 
softly asleep, like a trusting child. 



58 



Can gou Wtll iWe JKHfjp? 

The days are void and hollow, 

Empty the moments fly. 
Red carnations to ashes turn, 

Tell me, O tell me why. 

Why my song is weary, 

It's ev'ry lilt a sigh; 
Carnations' breath seems death to me— 

Tell me, O tell me why. 

The sun has ceased to glow. 

Gray are earth and sky, 
My heart is sad and ill-at-ease: 

Tell me, O tell me why. 

Why leave me alone, dear, 

Alone with my ardent sigh? 

Why turn away from love, Dear — 
Tell me, O tell me why. 



59 




©uegtion anb ^nj^toer 

The Question 

|HE vibrant, harmonious chords, 
born of his soul and expressed at 
the finger-tips of his beautiful 
hands, flooded the cathedral like 
an aureole. 

She entered, unnoticed among the shadows, 
for meditation and prayer. Stood still, and 
listened. Her heart-strings thrilled. She was 
strangely stirred. 

His music seemed the cry of longing, the in- 
tense yearning of one life toward another. It 
called to her and her alone. 

Half consciously she moved forward, slowly 
at first, then with the rush of her emotions 
more rapidly, faltered, trembled, then sank 
upon her knees, clasping his hands: 

"What are you playing? Why are you play- 
ing?" 

"I thought I was alone and this tone-poem 
sought expression. I shall call it 'The Ques- 
tion.' How strange that you should come!' 
He placed his hands upon her shining hair and 
lifted her face to his. Around and above them 
shone that radiance which passeth all under- 
standing. 



60 



The Answer 

Again he played while she knelt in prayer. 
Upon his uplifted face the light of living glory 
was idealized. The dreamy chords swept 
softly at first among the shadows over the 
kneeling figure, then triumphantly burst into 
a pean of joy. 

His eyes were full of wonder and gladness. 
There were tears upon the lashes of her beau- 
tiful eyes — tears of happiness. 



61 




jfWarjorie'jBf feummer 5Crip 

OME, Dolly, it is the summer-time; 

The weather is so hot, 
We must pack the big, old family 

trunk. 
And find a cooler spot. 



Suppose we try the beaches. 
And there, down by the sea, 

We can build a pretty house of sand, 
For "Pugsey," you, and me. 

Then we can gather sea-shells, 

And, perhaps, bright pebbles, too ; 

Then find some funny seaweed. 
And play it's something new. 

I'm busy now ; I have to pack — 

And I must get the lunch ; 
We'll want some pop-corn and some nuts, 

Of grapes, a big, big bunch. 

Then I must ask old Ricker 

To find the chain for Pug, 
So we can take him with us 

In Grandma's old gray rug. 



62 




Lois Fox 



It's quite a job now, Dolly dear, 

To care for Pug and you; 
But they'll drive us to the depot. 

Where we take the train "Choo ! choo !" 

Yes, Hector will be lonesome, 

But he'll be good and stay 
To watch the doll house and the swing. 

While we are far away. 

And when the summer's over, 

And our vacation, too. 
We'll come back to our dear old home, 

To the house I built for you. 



65 




"©Dob iSigljt, ILober, ©oob Bigfit" 

ADDY dear, don*t leave me now; 
I love to have you near ! 
'Tis horrid in my tiny bed 
With darkness and with fear: 
With you, I see the moonshine — 
The stars and heaven's light. 
But oh, I feel so very queer 
When you say: 

"Dood night, Lover, dood night!" 

I'll promise not to tease you. 

Nor pull your ears and hair : 
For daddy dear, I've only you — 

My little heart to share ! 
Do I see you shed a tear? — 

Yes, Daddy, you are right. 
Leave me now, I'll have no fear. 
Kiss me and say : 

"Dood night. Lover, dood night!" 



66 




gour little ^leajfure ^ling 

IN'T I your darling baby dear? 

Didn't old Santa leave me here? 

I hope he comes next Christmas 

night, 
And brings a nuffer baby bright. 

I want a baby bruff er too, 

To kiss and love, like I do you, 

But mumu dear, don't make me cry. 

By loving bruffer more than I. 

When I grow up and am a man 
I'll buy you all the things I can; 
Some cakes and nuts and lots of toys, 
And maybe twenty baby boys. 

I am your darling baby dear. 
Don't look so sad, don't cry a tear ; 
Please laugh and laugh again and sing, 
For I's your little Pleasure King. 



67 




Carlo*)B; Cixtn^na 

AY I have a circusus 

To-day, my dear Mama, 
Out in the big old nursery. 

Near you and dear Papa? 



Then you tan tum an' see us play 
An' buy some b'loons an' cake, 

An' tandy in a big, big sack. 
For me an' Clownie's sake. 

An' Daddy dear, when he wakes up, 
Must tum an' join our fun. 

An' Kitty too tan have a place. 
An' in a race must run. 

My Dolly dear, I'll dress her up. 
Then she'll be right in line. 

For when old Santa Claus comes 'round 
You know she must look fine. 

Some music too we want. Mama, 
To jump and sing and dance, 

So come an play a tiny tune. 

An' watch us run an' prance! 



68 



I'm sure you'll like to hear us laugh, 
An' just like Injuns scream. 

Be sure to tell Aunt Susan 
To send a can of cream. 

Then when old Santa prys around, 
He'll see that I love play ; 

An' then he'll bring me lots of toys 
For fun on Christmas day. 

So let me have my circusus 
To-day, my dear Mama, 

Out in the big old nursery 
Near you an' dear Papa! 



69 



lLi}ttta anb ?|er 29oUp 

I love my dolly, yes I do, 
I love my dolly more than you! 
Think I mean not what I say? 
You try and take my dolly 'way ! 

Old Santa brought her down, you see, 
And hung her on the Christmas tree — 
And every day she's lots more dear. 
Oh, I must have her always near ! 



70 




Wbt iMas^ter Sculptor 

WAS living in a quaint old chateau 
on the bank of the Reuss in 
Switzerland, when my urgent de- 
sire for a career upon the operatic 
stage prompted me to go with my 
friends to Vienna, where I began to study 
under Mme. Herzog, and Leschetizky's assist- 
ant. The flattering offer, which came pres- 
ently from a great German director, could not 
be resisted, and I immediately accepted his in- 
terest and began my study for the stage. 

After some months of painstaking work, the 
day of my debut was almost at hand. I care- 
lessly left the orchestration books of my part, 
Herodias in "Salome," where they were found. 
A painful scene followed which resulted in my 
quitting the home of my friends, who strongly 
opposed the idea of a public career as a singer 
for me. Heart-broken, I abandoned my oppor- 
tunity to sing and sought consolation in a 
nearby convent. 

That deary, rainy evening I boarded a bus 
and rode to St. Stephen's Dome. I was sorely 
depressed and had difficulty in restraining the 
tears. A man who sat opposite me, made me 
uncomfortable with his steady gaze. In my 
eagerness to be free from his staring, I leaped 
from the bus, without my umbrella and hur- 

71 



ried into the side chapel, where I knelt at the 
shrine of the Virgin and prayed to be led 
aright. 

Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder and 
a quiet voice said to me in French: "Do not 
fear, I want to help you. Why are you weep- 
ing? Come away from this lonely church and 
tell me all about it. Here is your umbrella." 

It was the man from whom I had sought to 
escape, but I quite lost my fear and followed 
him out of the cathedral. He called a bus. 
"We are going to the Emperor's Castle," he 
said. "I live near there." 

When we arrived, a dear old lady, who 
proved to be his mother, opened the door and 
we were led into a beautiful salon filled with 
figures in bronze, marble and clay. 

I had indeed been safely led. The man was 
the Master Sculptor of the Austrian Empire. 
Presently he took me back to my friends, who 
rejoiced at my return, and declared that they 
were now reconciled to my desire to sing in 
public. 

Some months later, when I was singing 
Schubert's "Ave Maria," my friend the Sculp- 
tor walked to the stage and presented me with 
a beautiful bouquet of roses. Imbedded in the 
flowers was a tiny statuette of myself kneeling 
before the Virgin's shrine. 



72 




** Cotton" 

Dedicated to the South by Lois Fox, October 1st, 
1914. 

LEASE ma'm let me talk 
Ah's got so much to say, 
Mah heart goes out and tears do 

flow, 
When ah think of dis war to-day. 

Mah skin am black, but mah soul am white — 
And ah feel ef ah only had de right 

To Stan' and preach de things ah feel — 

God's love and peace would set em right. 

Ah 'members well de war of ole — 

Yes 'm, ah lived it night and day — 

Mah heart goes out and tears do flow — 
When ah think of dat war to-day. 

De North and de South were ill at ease, 
And de feelin' of bitterness did den increase. 
And ah wants to say de time has come 
When de North and de South has a problem 
on. 

As Sherman say, "De war am hell !'* 

An' bring much trouble too — 
But ah believe de biggest yet 

Am de cotton bale— don't you? 

73 



When ah sees de bales a-layying aroun* — 
And never to sell a single poun*, 

Ah say: — Woman from ebery where, 
Rise and help us now. 

There is no North and South to-day — 

Let's join and be one man, 
To figger out a means and way 

To help dis cotton plan. 

Lawd, chile, when ah look back 

And see things by de stack 
Made of cotton ev'ry day — 

Ah say, — white woman, wake up! 

Ah's bought a cotton bale, yes, ma'm, 

It's good as gold, you bet — 
But de feeling dat ahs done some good 

Am a better feelin' yet. 

Lawd, ladies, ef ah was only white, 
Mm! Ahd set dis problem right, 

Ah'd carry de flag made of cotton, too — 
Den you'd see what dis plea — 

"Buy a bale o' cotton" — would do! 



74 




CCORDING to the traditions of 
the Nkami tribe, Assussi was the 
first human being to express him- 
self in harmony and song. He was 
the father and founder of this tribe. 
He taught them to sing, and it is claimed he 
was the author of some of the songs still used 
by these same people, and it is interesting to 
know from authentic sources that a large 
number of our slaves were brought to America 
directly from this tribe. From the same 
sources of information, it is made certain that 
the salient characteristics of the real negro 
music of this country are the survival of the 
native music in Africa. The peculiar chant- 
ing by a leader, followed by a refrain of many, 
is distinctly African. These chants are tones 
variable in pitch, ranging through an entire 
interval on different occasions, according to 
the inspiration of the singer. These are seldom 
discordant and are full of weird, beautiful 
harmonies. Prof. Richard Garner, from whom 
I obtained these facts, has been made king by 
the Nkami tribe, and on every trip to Africa he 
is favored and honored by this people. 



75 




©lb ^unt ^uaan anb ?|er (gfjosJtie lamp 

OWN in Texas, Travis County, 

whar de Colorado flows, 

In de tranquil hush o' twilight, 

comes a feelin' o' repose; 
As ah sits down in mah dugout, an' 
look out toward de hill, 
'Pears like de old place alius is most' peace- 
fulles and still. 

De honeysuckle flowers keeps a-bloomin' 

bright an' gay, 
Roun' de trellis on de poaches, jes' as if ter 

laugh an' say, 
A hearty howdy to de neighbors, an' de folks 

w'ats passin' by — 
An' tain't nothin' in dis big wide worl' dat 

smell so sweet, oh my, 

You just sutt'nly ought ter see 'em — an' de 

fines' vi'lets too, 
Jes' a pokin' out de cool spots, dere sassy 

heads o' blue. 
Den de ribber in de distance sings its evenin* 

song so free. 
As it rush 'long thru de hill sides ter jine de 

great big sea. 



76 



An' ah heahs de farm-han's laughin' an' de 

fiddle's lively tune, 
An' 'casionally a corjun — dogs a-barkin' at de 

moon. 
Den after while a tappin', a gentle tappin' at de 

do', 
An' I knows right well its meanin' an' who it 

wuz befo." 

Ah says "Come in," 'cause that same thing jes 

happen ev'y day — 
'Tis all mah white folks chillun stop dere 

rompin' and dere play; 
Dere wuz Mamie and Miss Nellie, Mannie, 

Louis, Gussie, too, 
Come ter heah about de "Ghostie Lamp" dat 

b'long to ole Aunt Sue. 

Ah say "Chillun ef you'll be right good, ah'll 

git mah Ghostie Lamp." 
An' all o' dem jes' 'have themselves 'ceptin' 

Gussie, dat young scamp. 
He jes' jump an' sing an' whistle too, an' laugh 

right in mah face, 
'Tweren't no livin' wid dat rascal — dat boy jes' 

own de place. 



77 



Be still, Honey — don't cry. 

Walk sof, talk sof, don' you even breVe! 

What you see an' what you hear, 'cose you 

got ter b'lieve! 
Don' tell me 'tain' no ghos'es, don' tell me you 

ain' scare', 

'Cos las' night ah see ernough ter take de kink 

right out mah hair! 

Mm Mm Mm 

Ah wuz sleepin' on mah pallet in de room jes* 

by de yard. 
An' ah feel de terribles' shakin', dat rouse me 

good an' hard, 

An' den de aw'flest noise ah hear, sech a racket 

an' a din, 
Dat ah thought ah fell from glory into ever- 

lastin' sin. 
Mm Mm Mm 

"Swing low sweet chariot, 
Ah's waitin' fer de Lord ter come, 
A chariot am a-waitin' dere fer me, 
Ah's waitin' fer de jedgment day." 



78 



'Twuz pow'ful dark when ah riz up, an' felt 

aroun* de place, 
An' ah say "Who dar, who?" no answer — an' 

den a great big face 
Of a yaller ghos' broke thru de dark, an' ah 

thought ah wuz in — well — 
Torment ain' no circumstance ter de col', col' 

creepin' spell 

Dat took right hoi' mah body, dat grab right 

here mah soul, 
An' ah thought dat ghos' was gwine drag me 

Down into a big, black hole. 
Den ah say again — "Who 'tis?" — h'm, mus' be 

de debbil sho'. 
But mah knees commence and tremble, and ah 

fell down on de flo'. 

Den ah knowed ah had black measles, as ah 

has mos' ev'y year 
An' all at once ah fell asleep, from nothin' else 

but fear. 
So walk sof, talk sof, don' you even bre've. 
What you see an' what you hear, o' cose you 

has ter b'lieve!" 



79 




5|oto (george ^atti tfje i?ebj Jerusalem 

(A Verbatim Transcription of a Negro's Dream) 

NE night when ah wus comin' 
away frum de church — yessah, ah 
had been a seekin' ligion a long 
I time. Jes' as ah turn a corner of de 
road, ah kinda look up and ah see 
de great White City ! Ah jes' knowed it was de 
New Jerusalem, case dere neber was no town 
'roun' here — nothin' but Pan Top hill ! Ah den 
lif up ma ban's and ah say, "Good Lawd, save 
me!" Den it peer lak somefin jes' raise me 
right off ma feet and carry me straight up to 
de Golden Gate, and when ah got there ah 
see St. Peter sittin' lookin' at me, wid his 
white, long beard, and de Lawd wus standin' 
by his side. No, sah; de gate weren't wide 
open, jes' a little crack in it. De Lawd say, 
"Come in, George," and handed me a long, 
white robe and soon mah hair got long and 
wavy and ah look lak a pure little white chile 
and ah wus so happy. Yes, sah; ah had de 
wings, too. Ah look aroun' and St. Peter say, 
"George dere's a box of slippers; what size 
does you wear?" and ah say my number is 



80 



seben but ah mostly wears twelve, cause de 
seben naturally hurts mah feet. Den ah 
walk 'roun' de golden street and ah wus so 
happy in dem golden slippers. 

At this point George was asked, "What kind 
of streets were they?" 

Why dey wus all paved wid gold and de 
sidewalks, too, but dere weren't no houses, jes' 
bare groun' wid gol' and grass on 'em. 

Oh, yes, sah! Ah went right on up de 
street to de top o' de hill, and dere ah riz up 
and look, and bless mah soul, Mars Bill, ah 
seed a big, white throne. 

Oh, yes, sah! Yes, sah, de Lawd wus a 
settin' on it. Yes, sah. No, sah, he waren't 
alone. Angels in white wus singin' and playin' 
de golden harp. Ah wus so happy. Yes, sah ; 
ah shore wus. 

No, sah; ah didn't speak to de Lawd, no, 
sah; but he look at me lak he knowed me 
always and say, "Good Mawnin', George." 

"How did you ever leave there, George," he 
was asked. 

Well, ah can't zactly say; I wanted to stay, 
ah wus so happy, but ah begin to feel kinda 
weak and sleepy and den ah knowed no more 
till ah hear de office bell ring an de clerk 
rouses me up and say : 

"George, take some ice watah to No. 7." 



81 




Sunt iWarp'j^ B>v^ttm for ^ra|>er 

|T a gathering of Negro ministers 
the question was asked, How the 
command to pray v/ithout ceas- 
ing *'mought" be accomplished. 
A female member of the congre- 
gation exclaimed: "Mr. Preacher, no one need 
waste time writin' an essay on dat text. No, 
sah; dat's easy." 

"Well, Mary," said the parson, "speak up, 
what does you say about it? Can you pray all 
de time and never cease?" 

"Yes, sir; I sutt'nly can." 

"V/ith all your work? Tell us how." 

"Yes, sah. De more I do de more I can 
pray. You see," she said, "when ah open mah 
eyes in de mawning, ah pray 'Lawd open my 
eyes of understandin',' and while ah'm dressin' 
ah say, 'Clothe me, Lawd, wid the robe of 
de right ones,' and when ah am washin', ah 
say 'Wash me wid de water of de gineration 
and when ah begin to work ah say, 'Lawd, give 
me strength to equal mah day,' and when ah 
work more ah pray dat God's work and spirit 
fill mah soul, and when ah begin to sweep ah 
pray dat mah heart may be cleaned from all 



82 



its impudence, and while ah am gettin' mah 
breakfast ah pray to be fed wid de hidden 
manner and milk of de word, and as ah'm busy 
wid de chillun ah pray to God for de spirit of 
dedoption to be called his chile. Everthing 
fixes me wid thought for prayer. Dat text am 
easy. Yes, sah; easy!" 



9n (©lb ^egro M^mmfii ^erj^ion 

A negro mammy was asked the origin of 
the old negro slave songs. She said : 

"Mars Jesus he walk de earth and when he 
feel tired he sit a restin' on Jacob's well, and 
make up dese spirituals for His people." 



83 



Cftrfetmajf <6it! Cfittetmasf <6if! 

"Christmas Gif! Christmas Gif! 
Yes, sah, I's here wid Christmas Gif — 

And greetings to you all! 
My ! ain't it lovely warm and nice — 
In de kitchen, while outside dere's ice! 

You children mus' give thanks above 
For all de presents and de love, 
Dat Santa Claus done show to-day — 
While climbin' down his icy way: 
To Ma and Pa both give a kiss 
And thank them for de joy and bliss, 
And all de lovely things to eat! 
Then you mus' give Aunt Sue a treat — 
For she said— "Christmas Gif!" 

"Christmas Gif! Christmas Gif! 

Yes, sah ! I means to get a Christmas Gif — 

And greetings from you all! 
For though they calls me poh black mite ! 
My blood am red — and mah soul am white! 
God draws no line 'tween you and me, 
He bless us all, where'er we be." 



84 



So love Aunt Sue and treat her right — 
And come to her dugout at seven to-night. 
By the light of her ghostly lamp's weird ray 
A Story she'll tell of a Christmas Day, 
When a poor little black "chile," sad and for- 
lorn — 
Was forgotten by Santa Claus Christmas 
Morn, 
Even though she said: "Christmas Gif !" 



85 




To Mary Fitzgerald 

ER presence is with me still. There 
are four pictures in my memory. 
One is an afternoon when first we 
met. She was seated in an old arm- 
^ chair in a room that was like a 
bower of roses — this beautiful little mother 
with hair of silver and the smile of youth. A 
cap of old lace framed the gentle face like a 
waning, evening star — a gown of baby blue 
enfolded her graceful form. From the moment 
I looked into her dear face and met her kind 
eyes, my heart christened her "My Little New 
York Mother." 

It was the beginning of a friendship cover- 
ing several years in which it was my precious 
privilege to sing and to read to "Little 
Mother," her face radiating sympathy, love 
and peace as she listened with ever-quicken- 
ing interest. 

A second picture is staged upon a stormy 
night when I found her abed, raised on pillows 
like a Madonna upon a throne, her devoted 
daughters hovering on either side like guard- 



86 



ian angels, for it was this beautiful little 
mother's blessing to have children responsive 
to her slightest desire. Peace, great peace, 
was on every side. 

"How happy I am! How good is God!" 
smiled Little Mother. "Sing for me." To- 
gether we sang her favorite hymn, "Rock of 
Ages." Little Mother's reed-like voice rose 
like an obligato. What Peace, what Rest 
within, while it stormed without! What in- 
spiration for higher and nobler life ! I left her, 
grateful to have come in touch with so helpful, 
so uplifting a spirit. 

My heart sang as I bade her good-night : 

You have quickened my life to a higher aim. 

Little Mother mine. 
And of heaven made more than just a name, 

Little Mother mine! 
Flowers fade, their perfumes die, 
All life blooms but to pass by. 
In heaven alone, immortals shine, 

Little Mother mine. 

The hallowed picture of a summer day 
lingers with me — the day I went to her Hart- 
ford home to renew there the happiness of our 
city hours, when we read and sang together, 
her gentle spirit revealing as in a magic 



87 



mirror, the comfort and the consolation of 
God, inspiring and comforting me. Never had 
I known greater need of human sympathy or 
love than on this summer day of Golden 
Memory, for to me had come one of life's 
greatest sorrows. 

Beside her bed, with her dear hand in mine, 
what comfort, what courage she poured into 
my troubled soul! When I went from her, 
there were in flower and sun and sea, beauty, 
warmth, vigor, which were new to me. I 
longed to share with the wide, wide world the 
uplift I had in the friendship of this noble 
woman. 

There's no sweet face on the pillow now. 
Her soul has flown beyond the sky. 

Cold and ashen are the leaves upon the bough, 
Petals of a faded rose here lie. 

There's no sweet face at the window now. 
In Memory's garden it grows more fair. 

This flower's a bloom on a heavenly bough; 
No sweeter face is smiling there. 

The fourth picture on memory's wall is 
"Little Mother" asleep on a bed of roses, all 
trace of age and suffering quite vanished 
away. It was the face of a girl of eighteen — 



the face of the old daguerreotype from which 
I had painted her portrait. The angelic peace 
that Life can neither give nor take away was 
now hers. Back to the Hartford home of 
sunny memory, faithful friends bore "Little 
Mother," and in the beautiful Church of the 
Good Shepherd — memorial to her kindred — 
was given to the "Empty Temple" the bene- 
diction of the Faith in which she had so 
valiantly and sweetly lived and died. 

At her grave — oh, did she know, did she 
hear my last tribute vibrating with grief for 
the loss of her companionship and with grati- 
tude for the possession of her friendship? 
Then, as now, full of Life, Power and Peace to 
me was my memory of Little Mother. 

Life, Power and Peace! 

Let all men praise and sing, 
The voice of Jesus whispers: 

"Peace I bring. 
Peace, perfect Peace ! 

Tho' trials crowd around, 
In perfect faith 

A wondrous Peace is found." 

Life, Love and Peace, 

Blest trinity of mind. 
They all are ours. 

When God within we find. 



89 




UMMER was near, and for weeks 
our thoughts had been bent upon a 
vacation in the woods, where we 
might live the simple life and forget 
the strenuous New York season of 
people, confusion and rush. 

Through friends we heard of a beautiful spot 
on the Hudson River and arranged to engage 
a little log-cabin near a sparkling spring, 
situated on a hill, where we might sit and 
meditate and, through rest, renew our vitality 
and invite the spirit. 

The beautiful panorama of mountains and 
woods around us at once gave inspiration. 
With tents, hammocks and an oven made of 
rocks nearby, our first necessities were sup- 
plied. A systematic routine was planned and 
strictly adhered to by the two girls who 
sought a vacation of rest. 

Surrounding our camp were many beautiful 
farms and estates — one belonging to Ralph 
Waldo Trine, whose inspiring book, "In Tune 
with the Infinite," has helped and lifted many 
readers to a higher plane, and another occu- 



90 



pied by Dr. Julia Seton, whose spoken word 
has charmed and healed. 

Our spring, at the foot of a gigantic oak, 
gave us cool, delicious water, and from this 
we built a trench to permit the water to flow 
into a smaller basin lined with rocks. This 
was also arranged for drainage, and was our 
refrigerator. 

We arrived early in June, and each morning 
for two weeks had most delicious wild straw- 
berries for breakfast. Later, we canned and 
preserved apples and wild fruit. It gave us 
pleasure to fill our shelves with these fruits 
for our table. A schedule was hung where we 
could see the day's routine. Mosquitoes came 
and sang to us, but we tacked dark-green 
mosquito netting across the sashes and opened 
our windows so the breeze could sail through 
at all times. On warm nights we slept in 
hammocks in the open, but on rainy, damp 
nights we slept in the log cabin, and on cool 
nights we slept in our spacious tent. 

We arose at seven, taking a few excellent 
exercises — relaxing, reaching and stretching 
drills, which build and strengthen. Then to 
the spring and drank deeply. After a vigorous 
walk of two miles, we returned to prepare a 
light breakfast comprised of whole-wheat bread, 
berries cooked in a way to aid digestion, and 



91 



eggs with a dainty slice of bacon, broiled camp 
fashion, on a stick. After breakfast there was 
a quiet hour of rest, meditation, exchange of 
thoughts, plans and ideas. From ten to twelve 
a study period. Wednesday was our day at 
home — we mended. 

At twelve we started our heaviest meal — 
dinner. 

Cooking was done in the open on our rock 
ovens. Many would not enjoy this, but to 
us the novelty and change from our former 
routine was food and rest. Our Southern 
"hoe-cake" and corn fritters, cooked on the 
hot stone top of our oven, corn in ear, pota- 
toes and onions in skin were prepared as the 
Southern campers do. We built a fire on the 
ground, put several wet leaves on the re- 
maining coals, then added the vegetables in 
skins and another layer of wet leaves on these 
— then made a good fire on top. In an hour 
we dug them out and, after shelling, found 
them to be a most delicious, fine-flavored food 
when seasoned with butter, salt and pepper. 
All our cooking had the delicious flavor of 
smoke, etc., of a real wild-West camp. 

The noon meal consisted of only four dishes, 
which we varied each day. Spring water was 
our drink. 

Soon after the noon meal, we took a nap 



92 



for an hour — ^lying on the ground, having 
great faith in the healing qualities of Mother 
Earth. On waking, we were ready for another 
walk over hill and dale, in our sweaters and 
bloomers, climbing rocks, fences and jumping 
tiny brooks. Finally, on reaching the Hudson, 
our day was climaxed by a swim. We reclined 
on the sun-heated rocks until dry, taking slow, 
deep, expanding breaths, relaxing, resting, 
and thinking of the beautiful benefits derived 
from such a vacation. 

The Saturday program v/as changed. A 
long, slow, steady run for an hour to induce 
circulation, after dinner a rest, followed by an 
hour of physical culture. We then attended 
to our correspondence of the week. A horse- 
back ride, target practice, fishing trips were 
interspersed with other activities. Saturday 
afternoon we groomed ourselves for the little 
country dance in the auditorium not far 
distant. 

Our evening meal was light — often a bowl 
of milk and cream with home-made bread and 
jelly, and a cup of weak tea. There were no 
churches near, but lectures and sermons were 
delivered by prominent speakers each Sunday 
in a little forest chapel about a mile distant. 
Evenings as a rule, were very short; we 
decided that sleep, rest, good air, proper 



93 



breathing, cool and refreshing water would be 
medicine and cure for our tired bodies. 

These beautiful foothills on the majestic 
Hudson gave one every desire to sleep. The 
peaceful valley, the towering, massive moun- 
tains, the ever-changing sunsets that threw 
their glistening rays on the water, made our 
evenings wonderful. We often sang the old- 
time songs, the Swiss mountain yodels that 
made us almost see the Alpine glow, and we 
felt how great and good it is to get away from 
the conventionalities of a great city for a sum- 
mer of rest and quiet, in the heart of nature, 
where we are lifted until we feel we are truly 
"In Tune with the Infinite." 




94 




WBbtn ^ujfan STotdits^enb &M Eeligion 

AWDY chile! Whar you come 
fum? hm? 

Ise gwine to get 'ligion to-night — 
does yer want to come along?" 
I went. 

Aunt Susan, dressed in pure white, took the 
last pew in the church — not noticing any one 
in her deep meditation. 

The church was crowded. Aunt Susan com- 
menced to hum and pat her feet in time to 
her own peculiar rhythm — suddenly she burst 
forth excitedly: 

"Oh, freedom — Oh, freedom — 
Oh, freedom for me — 
But befoh a'hd be a slave 
A'hd go buried in mah grave — 
An' go home to mah Lawd eveh mo* '* 

As she finished Parson Brown said: "Will 
Sister Townsend please come to de mohners' 
bench and receibe de Holy Ghos'?" 

But Susan, lost in her reverie, did not heed 
his call. Clasping her hands and with eyes 
closed she continued singing in a low soft 
voice, a melody of her own religious feeling : — 



95 



"Sometimes A'h feel like a motherless chile, 
Sometimes A'h feel like a motherless chile, 
Sometimes A'h feel like a motherless chile, 
A long ways from home" — 

Then rising, with her eyes toward the ceil- 
ing, she shouted: — 
"Oh, true believer 
A'h am a long ways from hom-m-m-me — " 

By this time she collapsed, and four Deacons 
carried her before the Parson and placed her 
on the floor. He knelt over her and said: 

"Oh, see that chariot comin' — 
A comin' from above — 
An' de foh wheels run by de Grace of God, 
An' de hinder wheels a runnin' by love." 

Then he shouted: "Brethern, sing! For 
Sister Susan's soul am won for God; de Holy 
Ghos' done come in shape of a dove." 

Aunt Susan was still unconscious and the 
four Deacons stepped aside and poured four 
pails of water over her. This aroused her 
and throwing up her hands she shouted: — 

"Heah come ma Lawd wid a sword in his 

han'— Hallelujah! 
He come wid a sword in his han'~and he 

gwine to hew dem sinners down — 



96 



He gwine to hew dem to de groun' — Glory 
hallelujah!" 

She was conducted down the aisle as they 
sang — 

"Her soul am white and her heart am clean, 
Cause she done let de good ole 'ligion in." 

As she was led from the church she 
hummed : — 

"Mary go ring dem bells — go ring dem bells 
for me — 

Cause de Holy Ghost done sneaked right in — 
from bondage he make me free — 
Mary go ring dem bells." 



97 



iWemorieg of ^unt ^u£(an 



My precious old negro Mammy, Aunt 
Susan, one day, while shuffling the cards to 
tell my fortune, in her little, old dugout, down 
in Texas, looked up and said "Miss Mayme! 
Folks don' b'lieve I'se a hundred years old!" 

"Are you really so old?" I asked. 

" 'Co'se I is! My, chile, I 'members fie 
Queen Ann's war — Yes'm, I does! Mo' den 
dat, I know Mapoleum Boney-part!" 

"How did you ever know Napoleon?" I in- 
quired. 

"Lawd, chile, I met him when mah master 
took me to poh tea at de White House, when 
Mapoleum Boney-part was visitin' Wash'n'in! 
Dat's how I knowed him! Yes'm, I was a 
good-sized chile when de stars fell, so don't 
you ax me no more how old I is !" 



98 




iWis(flf jMapme anb Her ©pera 5Croupe 

F course you understand that Miss 
Mayme is myself. At the early age 
of twelve I planned what might 
have been called a barnstorming 
expedition through Texas. 
The odds were all against me at home, par- 
ents naturally object to such an expedition 
under the general management of one of such 
tender years. 

A compromise was arranged by the addition 
of a somewhat maturer chaperone and the 
child star, manager, prima donna and enthusi- 
ast, with her company of miniature satellites, 
ventured forth into the wilds. 

The children were all about the same age 
as the leading spirit and had been coached by 
her for months in a little home theatre, built 
for her by an interested fellow school-mate, 
in an attractive cellar under one of the ranch 
houses. It was my all-absorbing ambition to 
become a great star in the remote future, my 
first appearance at four years of age, having 
been sufficiently successful to start the fires 
of ambition. 



99 



At eleven, in one of the largest theatres of 
Texas, I played and sang Ralph Rackstraw, 
in the world famous "Pinafore," and with this 
added success, it required but a year to formu- 
late and carry out the scheme of my life. 
When the "troupe" really started and the 
miniature company was gathered upon the 
station platform, I experienced the first, great, 
trembling emotion of my life and to steady my 
nerves I called the roll: 

"Arthur! Ruth! Hazel! Irene! Johnny! 
Helen! Nan! Nellie!" omitting for the time 
the usual nickname "Miss" Nellie. All ac- 
counted for, including the chaperone, the train 
rumbled in and with undignified but hilarious 
haste my company scrambled for seats. 

It was a wonderful moment. With the 
starting of the train I was on my way, 
through the smiles of summer, away from the 
practical routine of home and the guidance of 
parents into the world of "Make-Believe," the 
tinseled Paradise of Stageland. 

San Marcos was the first "stand." 

The river at San Marcos is not listed among 
the Seven Wonders of the World, but it 
should be. It is a thing of beauty and a joy 
forever. I learned that later, but as we disem- 
barked a tiny boy was struggling along be- 



100 



tween two large placards which bore the 
legend: 

"OPERA HOUSE TO-NIGHT, 

MISS MAYME'S OPERA TROUPE 

COME ONE, COME ALL!" 

Like the crier in an old New England vil- 
lage, he rang a bell to announce his coming. 
San Marcos certainly heard him and re- 
sponded, for our "first night" was an immense 
success. 

The next morning, alive with enthusiasm 
and success, we journeyed to Lockhart, to 
find an overcrowded hotel, but our chaperone 
had winning ways and the genial boniface 
converted the big parlor into a maze of cots 
and beds where the entire troupe were housed 
after another S. R. O.* performance. 

I remember awaking with pain, and upon 
investigation found that the members of my 
company were practical jokers as well as 
opera singers. They had tied two tin cans and 
a water pitcher to my toes. 

Feeling in need of relaxation and recreation, 
at Liberty Hill I made my first slip from duty. 
I always have been and always will be crazy 



* Standing room only. 

101 



about a horse, and a friend there offered me a 
magnificent animal for a canter. 

Among my effects were the tickets for the 
next railroad jump, and also our receipts to 
date. Not dreaming that I could miss a train, 
off I went into the suburbs. 

My horse, handsome as he was, was not 
sure-footed, and the first I knew I was by the 
roadside, stunned and for the time being help- 
less. When I was restored to consciousness 
and the bosom of my friends, the train had 
gone. 

Imagine my dismay as I realized that my 
"troupe" was without money or tickets. 

The chaperone imagined I was in another 
car and would come through. She explained, 
almost in tears, to the conductor, and he, 
anticipating what would probably happen, 
affected a sternness he did not feel. 

"I shall have to put you all off," he said. 

Little Arthur, our comedian, a child in 
years, but a man in courage, said: "What? 
Right here in the woods?" 

"Right here in the woods," replied the con- 
ductor. 

Soon all the passengers on the train had 
become interested, and so when the youthful 
Arthur offered to give a show and pass the 
hat, the idea was welcomed with applause. 



102 



My friends at Liberty Hill brought me by 
motor to the next town and I was a somewhat 
sore but still successful prima donna at the 
evening's performance. 

By this time my company had become 
"regular old stagers," as was proven by the 
fact that they looked upon my venture as an 
opportunity for sky-larking, and the chaperone 
was somewhat overworked making apologies. 

At Llano I had ordered an open-air re- 
hearsal, endeavoring to combine business with 
pleasure and at the same time "tune up" my 
company, which was getting a little lax and 
careless. 

During the rehearsal a bull in a field nearby 
took umbrage at Arthur's red trousers, and 
joined our midst, while we, helter-skelter, 
made tracks for barbed wire fences, trees and 
shrubs in break-neck confusion. 

Little Arthur, our comedian, and to-day a 
leading violinist, bore the brunt of the attack, 
and for a time it looked as though the red 
trousers would suffer, but fortunately he 
nimbly sought the branches of the nearest 
tree, and the owner of the bull, coming out to 
claim his own, rescued the terrorized comedian 
and saved the day. 

It is needless to give all of the details of 
this remarkable tour, but one incident is 



103 



vividly before me. One night at the close of 
a performance, we were hurrying to depart 
for our next stand. Suddenly, a heavy rain- 
storm came up, and there was no time to 
remove our costumes. This, however, did not 
stop the company from braving the storm 
dressed as we were. As the material of our 
costumes was not of fast color, we found, when 
we came to take them off, that our bodies were 
tattooed with red, blue and yellow. In those 
happy days, all Texas — yes, the world — was 
ours. 

An old-time meeting-house on a farm had 
been engaged for us and our next day was a 
holiday. My company ceased to be stars and 
became hoodlums of the most energetic type. 

An old negro mammy voiced herself in re- 
gard to them as follows: 

"Lawdy, chile, yo' opery troupe done pesti- 
cated 'roun' here all mawnin.' Come an' see 
what dey do. Dey done tied Mars John's Jer- 
sey calves' tails together and we can't get 'em 
loose. An' sides dat, Missy, dey done hitch de 
donkey to de red cart an' gone off wid it, an' 
I'll bet dey ain't gone far, cause dat ole donkey 
certainly do bawk and kick. Mars John am 
boilin', an' I does certainly side wid him. Yo' 
opery troupe am all wrong. I don't lak no 
sech doin's. Lawdy, Missy, let 'em give me 



104 



my preserve seat down to de Melodian Hall 
and yo' ole opery troupe can go to thunder." 
Many were the experiences of this child 
opera troupe, but Miss Mayme came home 
elated and triumphant, and soon after left for 
a three-years' trip to Europe to study. 




105 




Hois: at ti^t Wtltpi^ont 

(Many Years Ago) 

ELLO Nell — are you busy to-day? 
If you are not I've something to 

say. 
What? You are mending Dolly's 

clothes, 



And company's coming to stay? 

Well, Grandma's had a birthday, 
Oh, you oughter see the cake ! 
We've saved a piece of every kind 
That Grandmama can make. 

Hurry and dress your Dolly Dear, 
And wear your bonnet too. 
There are not many sunny days 
Like this for me and you! 

Why, has Dolly a headache now, 
And a very bad cold too? 
Oh, bring her to my Dolly's house. 
We've cough-drops not a few! 



106 



Let's rake a great big hay-stack, 
To lie on in the sun, 
Let Walter turn a somersault — 
'Twill be a lot of fun. 

Yes, I've invited Miriam — 
Have turned her tea-cup, too, 
She says she has a lovely dress — 
It's gingham and bright blue! 

So hurry. Dear, do not be late. 
My tea will steep at four ; 
I've set the table with the cake 
In the corner near the door. 

I've golden-rod a-plenty. 

Apples and grapes galore. 

So now good-bye, I've talked too long, 

I'll see you, Dear, at four. 



107 



g>tt)eet ^riar 




IIGHLY bred of beauty rare— 
In truth they make a bonny pair, 
As they race o'er field and mire — 
Dorothy, and her -horse "Sweet 
Briar"! 



Fearless over hedge and stream 
On hunting days they look a dream. 
Head erect and eye a-fire — 
Dorothy, and her horse "Sweet Briar"! 

There is love between the twain — 
Highest honors to attain 
Is their pride and fond desire, 
Dorothy, and her horse "Sweet Briar"! 

So, on days 'neath mottled sky. 
You may see them both race by. 
Note their beauty and admire — 
Dorothy, and her horse "Sweet Briar"! 



lOS 




HEY come to town at break of day, 
With Indian, calliope and steer, 
Sawdust, canvas and horses — 
And faces all alight with cheer. 

The townfolk and the farmer join. 
To watch each trick that's made. 

And laugh at the jokes of the barker-man — 
101 Wild West Parade! 

"Peanuts! Popcorn! Pink lemonade!" 
"Right this way to the great, big show! 
Buy your tickets here!" 

On a ranch in Oklahoma, 

Daring cowboys, day by day, 
Ride and shoot and rope the steers 

For the 101 display. 

The horse is taught to limp at will ; 

The buffalo to be afraid 
Of Indian, fire and arrow 

In the big Wild West Parade. 



109 



"Right this way to the side show! 

Get you ticket! Say! 
Redman, tomahawk and wigwam! 

All out this way! 

Alive are town and countryside; 

Children come from shop and school; 
The circus draws them one and all," 

With stage-coach, broncho and fool. 

Ma and Pa add to the thrill. 

All in Sunday best arrayed, 
Child memories linger with them still, 

As they eye the Great Parade. 

"All out! This way! We homeward go. 
Good-bye to the great, big. Wild West Show!" 



110 



I.*entJoi 

The night may be dark, yet we dream of a day ; 
The cloud may be dark, but beyond there's a 
ray; 

The sight may be dim, but with Faith are we 

blest. 
And the Master rewards us with peace and 

with rest. 



Ill 



^ 




